


A Mutual Understanding

by AwkwardDuckProducktions



Category: Wolf 359 (Radio)
Genre: Angst and Feels, Anti-Katy Perry, Did they actually save him?, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, I'm Sorry, Mentions of Katy Perry, Team as Family, The only thing SI5 can agree on is that she sucks, They all need therapy, except not
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-13
Updated: 2018-11-13
Packaged: 2019-08-23 01:44:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16609496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AwkwardDuckProducktions/pseuds/AwkwardDuckProducktions
Summary: Maybe if he kept his eyes closed, they'll forget to interrogate him today. Or they will think he's dead. Or maybe just kill him. Hell, he was already dead. There's no escape out of this one, Warren.





	A Mutual Understanding

Maybe if he kept his eyes closed, they'll forget to interrogate him today. Or they will think he's dead. Or maybe just kill him. Hell, he was already dead. There's no escape out of this one, Warren. Nothing but death. The heavy footfall grew closer. His body begging for release from these ropes and life. His captors were outside the cell, talking in low voices. Had it been months prior, he might have tried to focus. To listen. But the blood rushing in his ears, the screams caught in his throat were still too loud. With a groan, the cell door open as five, maybe seven, people walked in. He lost count weeks ago.  
"Hello my darling." The ringleader always spoke first. Calling him some sort of pet name. Hiding his aggravation that he didn't know Warren Kepler's name. "Still surprised to see you with us." A hand gripped his hair and yanked him up from his chair where his legs and arms were still bound. "I've been mighty patience with you, sweetheart. I gave you a chair to rest on and food to eat." His voice burrowed down in his ear as Kepler strained against his grip. A deep thunder of a laugh crept its way out of the ringleader's throat. "Where I remember anyways." He threw him down back on his chair. "But I am growing tired, sweetie! And I think that you might be more useful as dog food." Warren could only thank his lucky stars. "I'll give you one more chance before I take the hook to your stomach and drag you by your intestines to the kennel." Death was finally coming, like hell he was going to give it up now. Even if he told him what he wanted to know, there still was the fact that Cutter would personally make sure he didn't live. This was the more favorable option.  
"Boss, we got an issue." A new voice, shy and scared, announced.  
"Can't you see I am in the middle of something!" The leader shouted back.  
"Yeah but the AIs are turning on us." The new person bounced on his toes, his heel scraped the rough concrete floor. Above the cell, shots and shouts were being slung at each other. For a moment, he swore he heard a familiar song his team would play.  
"Jesus," the ringleader started to follow the person before shouting back, "When I get back, I want an answer!" And once again, Kepler was alone. Once again, left alive for some horrid reason. If they had half the team he did, their AIs wouldn't have turned on them.  
_No, Warren. Now is not the time to think of them,_ he chided himself, _if you start doing that, you might do something reckless like want to live._ Whoever was destroying the hideout, they were professionals. Professionals left no survivors.

"Jesus Maxwell! Could you be any more of a loser!" A maniacal laugh found its jovial way above the whirlwind of bullets and shouts. He pulled away from his hiding spot to toss another grenade as five more people rushed out of the fortified warehouse.  
"You said pick something that was 'scary' to draw them out! What's scarier than Katy Perry! Nothing!" She shot two more of the members before they even made it out the door. "Absolutely nothing!"  
"I said 'intimidating!'"  
"You wanted the Imperial March!" The two dove behind a container together, side by side as they always were. "Besides, Fireworks is great foreshadowing. It's Oscar worthy."  
"You would collect Raspberries Award." Jacobi hissed. Maxwell's eyes narrowed before they both dissolved into giggles. They needed this. The last few months had been nothing but planning and backtracking. They were getting close to the deadline before they might have to inform higher ups about the situation at hand.  
"Hey Jacobi?"  
"Mmmyeah?" To busy reloading his gun to look at her, Jacobi answered.  
"Could we just launch one off towards the entrance?" His dark eyes widen with glee. "To bottleneck, of course."  
"You just want to shoot fireworks at people." A smirk hitched the corner of his lips.  
"You get to do it all the time!" A thunder of steps echoed out from the door. He passed her a slender paper rocket and a lighter. The look of joy in her face easily surpassed a child winning free ice cream. Four armed smugglers nearly crashed at the entryway as she took aim. With practiced ease, she lit the firework. From inside, they could hear the screams of the smugglers, the whistle of the firework zooming inside, and the chorus starting up again.

Kepler may had sworn off his Christian roots, but he knew there wasn't a god that cruel to make his death be backtracked by Katy Perry on repeat. He knew he wasn't a good man, per se. But to have the last song he listen to be Fireworks was downright sinful. He deserved, if anything, at least die to Edge of Glory. He was a man of exquisite taste. This was hell. Knowing he was moments away from death and not only being forced to wait but for the wait music to be Katy Perry. If hell was real, he was already there.  
The music from upstairs grew louder with each restart. Kepler found it near impossible to focus, to remember. He was a dead man. He either died here at the hands of the smugglers, or out there by the will of his employer. But he couldn't help that traitorous thought of there are only two people who could be that annoying. They should be long gone by now. Probably already home and reassigned to new teams. Hopefully together, but realistically separated. His Stupid Idiot 5 year olds. That's what SI-5 stood for, right?  
_Warren, get yourself together. Have some pride._ He reluctantly tried to sit up straighter. His ribs shot paralyzing pain in defiance. _Take a breath. Take control. Come on, Warren._ That breath he took felt like shattered glass. Despite the protest his body gave, Kepler sat up straight. Perfect little soldier awaiting for the final battle.

"Glad that's over. Told you that the AI idea was a good one." Maxwell stood up in all of her 5'8 glory.  
"Truth about that?" Jacobi stood as well, a good two inches shorter but still the same glory. Bodies unmoving surrounded the two. "I was against it because I know the spiral you'll be having later."  
"Awww, you were looking out for me?" She typed away on her tablet and soon the screeching of Katy Perry cut off. "Thanks but they were passed the point of saving already." Her voice grew small, eyes unable to pull away from her screen.  
"I'm sorry." She gave him a quick tight smile.  
"Better that they're... gone now anyways. Mission accomplished. Goddard products are off the black market." Excited hands shook sadly. Unspoken plea to drop it. "Let's go get our loser."  
The two wonderfully stubborn subordinates made their way through the quiet warehouse, occasionally bickering or kicking someone out of the way. Guns raised, they found their way to the basement. Only could be described as moist. Damp would have been too nice, like the slightly wet walls was something it be content with. A towel is damp because it's supposed to be damp. A wall is moist because it shouldn't be any sort of wet. Warm and moist, like sweaty organs. Which should be wet, but beside the point. Jacobi grimaced at the comparison.  
"Thought about how this basement is like moist sweaty organs?" Maxwell asked, knowing the answer.  
"Yeah... but aren't organs already sweaty and moist?"  
"I mean, I guess." The wonder twins shared a giggle. And from deep in the basement, a low groan reverberated against the moist warm walls. They took off running. 

The silence was the worse. Even in Cutter's office, silence was the worst torture form in Kepler's book. The mere anticipation, the unknown and predictions. The calculations of escape or survival. Just letting one's own brain create a hell worse than what someone can physically give. Once the music, the screams, the bullets stopped, he had been sitting here in that nightmare silence. Except this time, he held the silence close. Let it wash over him. His last rites, to find peace in the closing moments. Or he would of, if his mind could just shut up and not think about his team for a moment. He let out a groan of frustration. And then heard boots running closer. _Good job, Warren._

Long hallways became semi dugout tunnels as the two ran. Unspoken understanding held their tongues. That and the words they had screamed at each other the weeks they spent finding him. Both knew if they didn't find him, if they had left him like he said to, then surely they would die. Not from grief or pain of losing him, but by whoever they were assigned to next. Pryce had been looking for an assistant and if Maxwell was on the market, there's no doubt she would choose her. Young was always looking for lackeys. No, this was the more favorable option.  
They turned and found a lone cell. Its bars rusted and flaky. Their running slowed to a crawl as they approached. With shaky flashlights they peered in.

_Get control. Take control. Get control. It will be the last thing you do._ Kepler slumped forward in his chair, unable to ignore his body cries. His stomach gnawed away his constructed patience. Broken bones scratched with each breath. Bruises that littered his skin ignited with the slightest of movement. His heart pounded like a funeral drum. Outside, he saw the flashlights' rays. And honestly, he was just too tired to care. Too hungry. Too dead. The boots turned the corner and against his better judgement, stole a glance at them. One with thick straight black hair and the other with frizzy black hair, both pulled back in tight ponytails. One with a look a relief on her face, the other with a look of fear, both letting go of that breath they were holding.  
"Damn, and I thought you looked bad on Mondays." She, as always, broke the tension that hung around the three.  
"Wha-" Kepler began but his throat burned from lack of use. It felt like blood seeping out and beginning to pull in his esophagus.  
"Easy there, sir. This is a rescue mission." He joked, unable to get that look of fear out of his eyes. "Be pretty awful if we went through all that trouble just to have you... ya know." Eyes downcast as the words died on his lips.  
"Croak on us?" Maxwell offered with a nudge and a grin. "Get it? 'Cause he sounds awful?" He let out a louder, more frustrated groan of despair as all his strength finally faded. Yes, the infamous SI-5. His Stupid Idiot 5 years olds. 

 

Maybe if he kept his eyes closed, he'll wake up from this dying dream. He'll be back in the cell, arms and legs bound to the wooden chair. The scratchy sheets and the soft(ish) pillow on which he rested on told him otherwise. That and the sound of a shower running and the tapping on a screen. _If this is a dream, it has gone on for too long. Face your death, Colonel Warren James Kepler._ When he opened his eyes, he found himself in a dingy motel room covered in gross yellow and green flowers wallpaper. Kepler was reminded of the horrors screeching of Katy Perry just by looking at this awful decor. The headache might have been from that or the abuse he endured in the past weeks, he couldn't figure it out.  
"Are you awake yet?" An unconcerned voice asked.  
"No."  
"Then I'm going to eat your KFC." Maxwell got up from her chair, already in her pajamas, and goes to the other side of the small room.  
"I'm awake." Kepler finally admitted, though he struggled getting that inside his head.  
"Oh no. You aren't awake. You just told me this, sir." A barely contained giggle found its way out. Nevertheless, a bag landed beside Kepler's leg. With shaky arms, he tried to raise himself. Which only landed him back on the pillow, arms on fire with pain. _You're weak, Warren._  
"Whoa hey!" A much more concerned voice exclaimed. "Maxwell!"  
"I was going to help him when he asked!"  
"We'd be here for a hundred years before he did that." Jacobi finished wrapping his hair up in the towel. He made his way to the bed and sat beside him. _Get control._ There was something undeniably soft in his eyes. Kepler has always wondered about that. This man has been with him for years, murdering and torturing for much longer. But deep inside, there was a softness to him. _Get control, Warren._ He slapped away Jacobi's hands.  
"Reason why I waited." Maxwell with a mouthful of biscuits stated. God, the was something soft in her eyes too. Even all the sarcasm and casual way she held a gun, there was something soft inside her. He knew he was nothing but repurposed glass, shaped into a Colonel. Made from decades of the same battles, the same war. Decades he's spent in this body, too dead to even get up. _Should have stayed dead._  
"Shut up." Kepler demanded from everyone. He allowed himself to breathe deep. But it stuttered on the way out. He tried again. Forced himself to look at this purely analytical. Get control, he told himself, take it if you must but get control. Yet a another broken shuddering exhale came out.  
"You okay, sir?" Asked Maxwell, her voice so young. She was nothing but glass too. Or she soon will be. The path he led them on only ended in shattered people. He guess he wasn't as stubborn tears fought their way out. _You're better than this._  
"Leave." His voice betrayed him, snagged on sobs stuck in his throat. "Just go." The heels of his hands pressed into his eyes like this was a wound that could be bandaged. Two unbelievably undeniably soft young pair of eyes watched him. As they always do. As they will do as long as he's alive. And even if he died, they were going to still be shattered. He was the more favorable option. Maybe if he kept his eyes closed, they would leave him.

Jacobi and Maxwell sat in the rental car. Words died on their lips each time they tried to break the silence. Then again, they've never seen their leader cry. They've tried for hours. But each time, it was always too soon. "I was almost convinced he didn't have tear ducts." Maxwell stated still in awe.  
"Yeah..." Jacobi couldn't tear his eyes away from the overgrown weeds in the fields surrounding the motel. They swayed with each passing car, like gentle waves on a beach.  
"I mean, he did go through a highly stressful situation."  
"Yeah..."  
"And like, it would be weirder if he didn't cry after all of that."  
"Yeah..."  
"Daniel, give me something." His head snapped towards her to see her own tears building in her eyes. "I don't even like him, why am I sad?" Hands found each other as they always seemed to do. His own breath shook as his voice refused to come out. Tears fell down his face which he hastened to wipe away. Maxwell broke, her body curled into herself. "Is he the only thing keeping me from becoming Pryce's plaything?" She asked, not sure if she even wanted to hear the truth. "I can't- she's so- she created the code the smugglers used to destroy them. Basically keeping them locked in their own programming. I-"  
"He is." His voice finally came out. It dragged its nails up his throat before being freed. His hand tightened around hers. "And he's keeping me from being Young's plaything." His eyes fell back towards the weeds outside as a sick broken laugh tumbled out. "I mean, it wouldn't even last a week." The it being him. Maxwell knew all too well. He did too as that laughter became chest pounding sobs. They met in the middle, holding each other because their lives depended on it. 

Morning came and they all piled into that car, bleary eyes from stressed sleeping and crying spells. And they drove back to Goddard.


End file.
